Catalina couldn't sleep.
The penthouse was completely silent, except for the soft sound of the wind brushing against the floor-to-ceiling windows on the 45th floor. Beside her, on the elegant marble table, an untouched cup of tea sat cooling. No matter how hard she tried to relax, the weight of what she had done kept pressing on her chest.
She had run away from her own wedding.
She had signed a fake marriage contract with a man she barely knew.
And now, she was trapped in a glass world, surrounded by luxuries that didn't belong to her.
Alexander Moretti.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. The intensity of his gaze, the way every word he spoke seemed to slice through the air like blades. He wasn't like the men she had known. He didn't pretend to be sweet. He didn't offer empty smiles. He was direct, brutally honest… and dangerously attractive.
Catalina rose from the bed made of Egyptian cotton sheets. She walked barefoot into the enormous living room, where the Manhattan sky stretched out like a dark cloak scattered with lights. From up here, the city seemed distant, as if she were floating above the real world.
"You shouldn't be standing at this hour," said a deep voice behind her.
Catalina jumped and immediately turned around.
Alexander stood there. No jacket, no tie, his white shirt rolled up and unbuttoned at the collar. In the dim light, his skin looked even paler, like finely carved marble.
"I couldn't sleep," she confessed, hugging herself.
He approached slowly, like a predator that didn't need to hurry to catch its prey.
"Too many emotions for one day?"
She nodded, saying nothing. Alexander stopped just a few steps away, hands in his pockets.
"I want us to be clear about something, Catalina. This isn't a game. It's not a fairy tale."
"I know," she whispered.
"Starting tomorrow, you'll be Catalina Moretti in every legal sense. You'll change your address, your number, your identity. And there will be rules."
Catalina swallowed hard.
"What kind of rules?"
Alexander raised an eyebrow.
"Rules that keep our lives separate. Don't ask about my past. Don't touch my things without permission. Don't go out without telling me. And under no circumstances… fall in love with me."
She stared at him, stunned.
"You think I'm going to fall for you just because we're living under the same roof?"
"Believe me," he replied in a low, dangerous voice, "it's happened before. Women tend to confuse protection with affection. But I'm not offering tenderness, Catalina. This is about convenience."
His words hurt more than she expected. Not because she wanted to fall for him—but because she already saw glimpses of the man behind the wall of ice.
"And you?" she asked without thinking. "Do you have rules for yourself too?"
Alexander stepped closer. They were so near that Catalina could feel his breath on her skin.
"Just one," he said. "Don't touch my heart… and I won't touch yours."
The next morning, Catalina woke up to find a new set of clothes laid out in her room, along with a note written in bold black ink:
"Be punctual. 10:00 a.m. Moretti Office. -A."
The outfit he left was expensive, understated, and elegantly minimal. A white linen pant suit and an ivory silk blouse. Everything fit her perfectly. Even the shoes.
Alexander didn't joke about punctuality.
A chauffeur picked her up at 9:15. The black, armored, silent car took her straight to the Moretti Enterprises building—one of the tallest and most iconic in Manhattan. Everywhere she looked, well-dressed employees and flawless assistants moved like gears in a perfectly engineered machine.
But what truly took her breath away was seeing Alexander transformed.
Here, he wasn't just the cold man who rescued her from a failed wedding. He was the most feared CEO in the country. His presence filled the space. A single glance from him made even senior executives sit straighter.
"Mr. Moretti, has your engagement with Miss Rosenthal been officially called off?" a reporter asked in the lobby.
Alexander didn't hesitate.
"Catalina Moretti is my wife. That's all you need to know."
The camera flashes burst. Catalina felt her heart slam against her ribs. The way he said it—so firm, so convincing—it was as if he truly believed it.
"You'll get used to it," Alexander murmured, without looking directly at her. "The attention is part of the package."
Later, in his private office, Catalina reviewed the marriage contract.
"It says here the marriage has a minimum duration of twelve months," she read aloud.
"Correct," Alexander confirmed, not lifting his eyes from his laptop. "We need to keep up appearances for that long. Afterward, you're free to go."
"And during that year… what do you expect from me?"
Alexander finally looked at her. His dark eyes were bottomless pits.
"I expect you to follow the rules. No scandals. Attend necessary events as my wife. And stay out of my personal life."
Catalina lowered her gaze.
"What if I get tired before the year ends?"
"Then the deal is off," he replied. "And you go back to square one. No protection. No resources. And with your in-laws hunting you down."
Catalina felt a chill run down her spine. She knew Alexander was right. Marrying him, even if fake, was her only lifeline for now.
The first gala arrived sooner than expected.
The black dress Alexander had custom-made for her was fit for royalty. It shimmered under the lights like a living jewel. The neckline was elegant, the slit on her leg subtly provocative. But what stood out most was the diamond ring he slipped onto her finger himself—the Moretti wife's ring.
"Ready for your debut as the ice queen?" he asked before they entered the ballroom.
Catalina forced a smile.
"No one's going to notice this is a farce, right?"
Alexander leaned in, brushing her ear with his lips.
"Not if you act like you want me."
The whisper was electric.
Inside the gala, everything was perfection: champagne, speeches, lights, soft music. Catalina stayed by his side the entire time, smiling, greeting, pretending to be the loving wife.
But someone couldn't take his eyes off them.
A man in a gray suit, with a twisted smile and a golden cane. His eyes lingered on Catalina with an intensity that made her shiver.
Alexander noticed too.
"Stay away from him," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Who is he?"
"Someone who doesn't forget. Or forgive."
Catalina didn't know what to say. But at that moment, she realized Alexander's world was full of secrets, and her role as his wife could be more dangerous than she had imagined.
Later, back at the penthouse, Catalina took off her heels and collapsed onto the couch.
"Who was that man?" she asked.
Alexander didn't respond immediately. He walked to the bar, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed her one.
"His name is Damián Leclerc. Former partner. Current enemy."
"Why did he look at me like that?"
Alexander studied her. For the first time, his mask of control seemed to crack.
"Because you… you look too much like someone he lost."
Catalina felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
"And that's bad?"
"Depends on what he plans to do about it."
Silence settled over them like a shadow.
"Alexander…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Am I in danger?"
He approached her slowly, placing a hand on her cheek.
"You have been… from the moment you stepped into my life."
And for the first time, he kissed her.
It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was a claim. A contract sealed with fire. Catalina felt her whole body tremble, her defenses shatter—there was no turning back now.
The contract had rules.But hearts… never obeyed them.